Handy Man
by dhalpin3
Summary: John Constantine's second term of service to Illyana. Sequel to Payback's a bitch. I thought up this story about five months ago but didn't get around to writing it down until now. Yea, John's still in the dog house with Illyana.
**Handy Man**

Author's note: John Constantine's second term of service to Illyana. Sequel to Payback's a bitch. Recommend that you read the stories in order. I thought up this story about five months ago but didn't get around to writing it down until now. Yea, John's still in the dog house with Illyana. I find it funny that he's unable to get the better of her, which based on the Hellblazer comics is so rare for John.

" _I truly bloody well hate goats"._

That was John's current revelation but not really worthy of being in the book of Revelations. Rather weak on the insight scale but summed things up rather well.

John was dressed in his usual disheveled white shirt, thin black tie, dark pants, and leather shoes. He had a silk cut fag (cigarette for you Yanks) dandling from his lips. His trademark trench coat was slung over the goat corral's wooden fence.

John had a shovel in hand, a wheelbarrow by his side, and his sleeves rolled up. He was currently up to his shins in goat shit shoveling out a breath taking mound of goat poo. One goat standing on top of another mound was giving him a _"Baaaa"_ of disdain while said goat was busy adding just a bit more poo to said mound.

It was John's second service to She who has yet to be named.

 **BEGIN RECOLLECTION**

John had gone to sleep in his skivvies and awoken to find himself dressed and standing before the door of a run down cottage painted with purple trim. John was rather blasé about this as such things were not unusual in John's line of work. Mystical summonings, dream journeys, walk abouts, vision quests, John had done them all.

As he knocked at the door he noticed that the doorway was inlayed with Nordic runes. He had just managed to decipher the Nordic word for weaver when the door opened. He was confronted by a young, oh say early twenties, blonde of impressive bustyness with green eyes.

Hmm, hope it's one of those kind of dreams John mused to himself. John put on his usual charm.

" _Hello luv. Name's John. Been summoned or some such"._

" _Yes"_ the fletching woman said while eyeing him up and down with a look that did not imply great delight.

" _We were promised a man for manly duties. You look… somewhat like a man"._ She said this with a tone that did nothing to John's ego. An old female voice cried out from within the cottage.

" _Who is it Urd? If it's those beggars again then turn them into goats and be done with it"._

Urd? Now where had John heard the name Urd before?

" _It's not beggars Skuld. It's… well I think it's a man but he's rather puny and thin. She did promise to send one for the deeds"._

Puny? John took a drag on his fag and was about to retort when the second name registered. Skuld?

Crap.

The Norm witches. He'd heard of them but never had had the pleasure of meeting them. They were incarnations of fate. Everybody's fate was part of a tapestry they were supposedly weaving.

Let's see, John thought to himself, there should be:

Urd, a young woman. Maker of the threads.

Verdande, middle aged. Weaver of the threads

Skuld, aged crone. Cutter of the threads.

Another woman came to the doorway to look him over. She was middle aged but still rather a bit of a looker in that aged MILF kind of way. She also had a look of… well disappointment. She gave voice to her thoughts as she looked him over.

" _Male but… marginal. Likely has bad teeth as well. Barely sufficient"._

A third woman now came to the doorway. An old crone of a hag. She also eyed John like a piece of meat.

" _Both of you are too picky. One should find a use for whatever washes up on our doorstep. They all can't look like Thor. When you get right down to it their only really good for one thing anyway. He'll do"._

John wisely held his tongue while listening to the critiques. But he did ask a question.

" _Who promised to send a man"?_

Urd answered. _"Daughter of no woman"._ Like that was a descriptive answer. John had a sinking feeling that he knew just who daughter of no woman was.

She continued _. "Well… come out back. There's shoveling to do"._

The three ladies led him behind the cottage and confronted him with the goat pen filled with goats. It needed a mucking out. Really needed a mucking out. I mean… like wow, years of... goat byproducts.

Verdande gave him instructions.

" _There's the shovel and the wheelbarrow. Empty out the pen and spread it on the meadow behind the pen. When done you can start mending the fences"._

Urd opened the pen's gate and let the goats out who commenced to frolic about.

John protested and waved his hands about. _"Ladies, there's been some kind of mistake. I'm… a wizard. Doer of deeds. I'm a bloody hero for crying out loud, not a…"._

" _Handy Man"_ declared Skuld cutting off John's protests. _"Your field of valor awaits, start shoveling"._

" _But I'm a mage"._

" _So were some of the goats. Now look at the mangy lot. Shovel or join them"._ Said Verdande with an icy tone. She continued.

" _By oath you promised, so now is your oath redeemed. One of your services has been given to us"._

" _Bloody hell"._

 **END RECOLLECTION**

The ladies were on the cottage's back patio drinking lemonade and having some lemon cake. They were quietly laughing amongst themselves and sometimes pointing at John.

John, by this time, was utterly besmeared with filth (he had slipped and fallen several times) and had already been twice head butted in the groin by the goats.

The ladies had collapsed on the ground in mirth when one of the goats had made off with John's trench coat and he had ended up chasing it all over the property. That has ended in a tug of war with several goats before John finally recovered the now nibbled upon garment.

Then he got head butted in the arse which knocked him down into the filth again.

It was foul and tiring work.

But the worse part was Skuld kept giving him the eye and John had a sinking feeling in his gut as to what his next chore might, just might, be after he was done mending the fences.

After all, he was a Handy Man.


End file.
